


Rough Hands

by fuckyeahlucifersupernatural



Series: 50 Shades of Samifer [5]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: Asphyxiation, Blood, Bottom!Lucifer, Collars, Dom/sub Undertones, Dubious Consent, Light Bondage, M/M, Month of Kinks, Rough Sex, Samifer - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-03-20
Updated: 2013-03-20
Packaged: 2017-12-05 21:31:15
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,447
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/728131
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/fuckyeahlucifersupernatural/pseuds/fuckyeahlucifersupernatural
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"Because this is his. His devil on his shoulder. He’s been stuck hearing this repetitive claim over him. It’s always Sam is Lucifer’s. No. It can go both ways. Lucifer is his and he be damned if he never picks up the reins."</p>
            </blockquote>





	Rough Hands

**Author's Note:**

> **Kinks:** Bondage (Light), Blood, Manhandling, Asphyxiation, Zelophilia, "Lucifer on his knees, sucking Sam’s cock" 
> 
>  
> 
> **This is for the Month of Kinks Event!**
> 
> **Disclaimer:** This is fan-run and this writer is not officially affiliated with the CW Network, Kripke Enterprises, Warner Bros., and other official affiliates tied to the TV Show "Supernatural." This user does not claim ownership to the official content of Supernatural and does not seek profit off of the work produced presently. Plagiarism of this current story will not be tolerated and will be reported following AO3's terms of service. The stories, additional characters I create, are mine. This story was not created for profit. Making profit is deemed copyright infringement unless sanctioned by copyright holders (i.e. CW Network, Kripke Enterprises, Warner Bros., etc.). Copyright infringement can range from paying a fine to actual jail time. Please do not claim this story as yours! Please do not sell this story! Please do not reproduce this story! All violators will be reported and dealt with severely! 

_“Well I caught a demon in a mouse trap_  
One day behind the house    
It said, “Please let me free, I’ll do anything.”  
 We came to an agreement, made an exchange   
Your freedom for my name, then he began to sing...” 

   **Devils Song (This Feels Like A Nightmare) by Anthony Green**

_If this is what you want, who am I to say no?_

His’s lips are turning purple. Those split lips part, able to see the red in his mouth and the white on his teeth. His mouth opens and opens, seeking for oxygen -- for breath. 

Hands are pressing down, pushing, constricting and suffocating the windpipe underneath it. Sam Winchester watches from above the bound figure before him twist and hips attempt to rise in search for relief.

Sam finally pinned the notorious archangel down. Slipped a thick band of leather across Lucifer’s throat, carved with Enochian and Hebrew that pressed down onto the blond’s prominent Adam’s Apple. It tightened and choked whenever Lucifer would try to pick or tear at it. Sam watched Lucifer gasp, going suddenly still until leather loosened, panting in the motel room. The Devil was trapped, bound, even going as far to bind the archangel’s white wrists with his belt until flesh about and underneath it began transitioning into red at the constriction. 

Sam liked the way those lips parted, the way a leg would try to fold in when air is cut off. Lucifer doesn’t need to breathe. Sam’s not sure if the archangel is doing this for Sam’s benefit or if the heated leather snug on the blond’s neck nullifies certain functions. While leather cuts in, branding marks into Lucifer’s neck, Sam pushes his fingers in. That large hand of his is wrapped above the leather band in a chokehold, watching the subtle change in colors on those lips. 

There’s a sound meant to be a growl that manages to get pass the heavy weight of Sam’s hand. It comes out indistinguishable but feral, the Winchester peering down at the bound archangel. Cheeks are flushed, the blood trapped and pushed into the archangel’s cheeks. Sam wants to say something. To comment on them. To just move one of his hands to a cheek and bruise those cheekbones with his thumb. But he can never find words or the coherency to speak when he’s like this. He can’t think of what it takes to push verbs here and adjectives there. All he can think of is that sensation of the archangel attempting to swallow against his hand as he continues to push into Lucifer and clenching of muscles around his arousal.

Lucifer’s tight around his cock, a delicious amount of pressure surrounding him as he roughly slides in. There’s a distinct burn when he pushes in deeper, where his fingers didn’t properly reach or simply became impatient with the act of stretching the archangel. Releasing Lucifer’s neck, his hand moves to the archangel’s left hip that’s exposed to him, the other buried in the mattress where he’s turned to the side. Sam’s hand pushes at Lucifer’s cheek, blunt nails digging into his backside so he could lean back to narcissistically watch himself rock into the blond. 

Lucifer, meanwhile, heaves for oxygen, refilling those lungs that becomes stifled and momentarily put on a shaky hold by ragged grunts at this mixture of a sensation that felt like someone pushing insistently at a sore spot. The lack of oxygen made it vibrantly aware to his nerves. Could feel Sam’s wild heartbeat through his cock, the own sluggish beat of Nick’s, and a sweet spot being just brushed against and nothing more. That soreness and pulsing ache becomes hooks and pins that ground and tether the archangel in this newfound experience. 

Than Sam is gone. Prompting eyes to open, twisting his head to see where Sam went. A hand presses against the small of his back, fingers reaching for Lucifer’s bound hands, fingers curling into the archangel’s. 

Lucifer grunts when he’s pushed onto the mattress, nose buried into the comforter that smells like Sam and cheap motel soap. Sam’s fingers leave him, the archangel left with nothing to hold onto. Turning his head, cheek pressed against fabric, hands are hoisting his lower half up, coaxing knees to support the action. He obliges, and as much as he would like to stubbornly snarl and cradle his sore ego at being pinned so easily by a human, he’s enjoying this. Enjoying the large hand that grips into his backside and digs blunt nails into unbroken skin. He can’t break. Can’t wear down. He invites the Winchester to try. Pride begins to push its way back into the archangel, strongly feeling that it was he that granted Sam this freedom for this all-or-nothing behavior when it came to intimacy. It was he who gave Sam the luxury. Only him and him alone. 

The coming knowledge of this inability to break down has only been coaxing the Winchester to push the envelope each and every time. Whatever courtesy restraint that has been shown for fleeting and mortal lovers is not shown here. That worry of injuring those he cares for is currently nonexistent, allowing this rather mindless and raw motivation fuel his actions. 

Sam’s other hand moves to pry Lucifer apart, skin already a healthy shade of pink from where hands have brutally gripped and dug into. The hunter lets a thumb admire the abused opening, the pad of the thumb running across the inside, partially slipped in. There’s an intake of air beneath him, quiet and slow at Sam’s inquisitive behavior. Sam continues on, slipping the thumb out to drag it down across sweat-slicked flesh until he’s drawing his hand back.

There’s a low sound escaping the Morning Star when Sam pushes into him again, the angle different and pressing into his prostate. It makes his Grace push against the flesh of his vessel, feeling his shoulder blades itch. It felt different. Different from the times he’s wrestled Sam’s wrists above his head and reached that punching orgasm. Right now it felt like a punch and he was far from done. A hot rush of cold heat that makes him want to shy away from the Winchester and yet greedily go closer to it. He chooses the latter. Pushing back into the hunter for more, listening to Sam suddenly curse his name in a choked moan, his fingers tightening on his hips. 

Lucifer repeats the action. Soon is pushing himself deeper onto Sam, rocking back into the hunter, experimentally twisting his hips when the hunter is halfway in. Sam let’s him. Watches as Lucifer willingly pushes into him, those wet sounds leaving the blond that make a muscle in his thigh tremble and mouth dry. Than Lucifer stops and Sam’s the one giving a disgruntled sound, shifting forward to grab those bound wrists. It’s a sloppy movement of slamming back into Lucifer, giving a shuddering sound in relief. 

There’s a smirk on Lucifer’s face. Plastered and smeared over Lucifer’s face, a laugh smothered and choked out by the restraint on his neck. The smug bastard, somehow always ensuring that one way or another that he ends up as the winner. Sam leans forward onto the strained muscles on Lucifer’s back and digs his teeth in to scratched and bruised skin. He digs and digs those teeth, willing incisors to tear and rip the cool flesh. When it does he’s earned with a rumbling growl from underneath him, but he can’t care to tease or to mock. His mouth is latched onto the beading blood, sucking on it and the taste is sweet. It electrocutes and numbs his taste bud, going down his throat and sitting in the depths of his being with a growing hunger. 

He tasted greater than demon blood. More appetizing and just a few drops left him with a budding eagerness for more.

His mouth latches onto it. Sucking it until the muscles on Lucifer’s back begins to spasm, the archangel panting and shuddering underneath. Sam can feel the archangel’s fingertips pressing into his abdomen, as if trying to push him away. “Sam,” the archangel croaks out, body refusing to stay up for Sam, the Winchester’s hands on his hips the only thing keeping him in place. The brunette picks at the incision his teeth have made, biting at the torn skin so tiny beads grow fuller, dragging his tongue across it to collect. Attending to it until it bled no more, Sam withdrew, licking his lips as if there may be that sweet taste hiding on his lips. And he’s moving with dangerous intent, that taste rich on his tongue. Long limbed body pulls off of Lucifer, hands roughly grabbing and adjusting the archangel who releases a garbled snarl in return. Before Lucifer can object to being consistently manhandled, he’s shoving his mouth into Lucifer’s neck. 

His fingers are pushing down on the leather band around the archangel’s throat, skin a vicious shade of crimson where leather has been cutting into. Sam dips his head, hands slipped low onto the archangel’s waist to bite into the abused neck. Lucifer tilts is head back in accommodation, a faint smirk stretching on his lips as Sam wears the skin down with his teeth. Closing his eyes when teeth finally break skin, Sam’s hands tighten, gorging off what the Winchester can get. It’s nirvana colored in red, Sam groaning headily as he sucks on the abused neck. 

Sam bites into the neck again, jaws wide, sliding together to pinch skin between bloodstained teeth. “Has a bit more bite to it, doesn’t it?” Lucifer exhales out, pallid eyes only able to see the side of Sam’s head and his ear. Sam is busy shoving his lips against the growing cut, a smothered groan push hot air into the opened, cold skin. It has too much bite. Makes every hair on his body stand up to attention, plummeted by adrenaline. “It can be all yours,” the archangel continues, Sam’s tongue pushing into the ruined skin. 

Sam raises his head, turning his head to look at the archangel, still looking composed despite everything done on him so far. “Take it off, Sam,” Lucifer murmurs, the left side of his mouth curling, “You can suck me dry all you want. This collar...is a little in the way.” 

Sam swallows, mouth smeared with blood, scoffing lightly, “Are you tempting me?” 

The blond graces Sam with a sweet smile in return. Sam reaches out to grip the back of the archangel’s head, pulling him into a rough kiss. Lucifer can taste his own blood in Sam’s mouth, grinning into the hunter’s mouth. Lucifer slides his lips off Sam’s to kiss at his jaw, dipping down to kiss at the unmarked chest. He wants this collar of a sort off. Removed completely. Wants access to his hands and control. Sam’s hand urges him down further across his chest, and it’s only when the blond is pressing a kiss near his navel did he hear a soft whine leave Sam, hips rocking slightly. It comes off as a suggestion to the prideful archangel.

Lucifer pushes back against the hand, huffing in hilarity. “I don’t think you’ve got me that wound around your finger to do that,” Lucifer hisses out, pride refusing to enact in something he saw as the cherry on top when it came to being submissive. Sam can grab at him. Fuck him. Grab his hair and sink his teeth into his throat. But this was a line being a crossed, unable to see how he could hold authority in such a position.

No. No. No.

There’s a glowering look on Lucifer’s face, as if he was rather appalled that Sam expected him to submit in such a way like this. Despite the fact that the archangel is bound and marked with teethmarks and bruises, he keeps his head held high like a pompous prince. He demands authority even though Sam recalls stripping it away from him when he tightened the rope on his throat to hear a fluttering moan escape those cracked lips. But there Lucifer was, grabbing at whatever frayed ends he could find to sustain and keep power in this game. 

The Winchester fights off the urge to roll his eyes at Lucifer. “Luce, it’s not like that. It’s just that... I guess I got carried away,” Sam mumbles out quickly and sloppily to appease the hesitant archangel, “You just are pretty all bruised and tied up for me. Just me.” Lucifer blinks up at the Winchester, as if prepared to seethe and shoot out scathing words if he’s being mocked. When he sees none of it, arrogance and pride picks at it like a compliment, turning his head to kiss Sam’s wrist in silent approval. 

Sam ventures, making sure not to become too bold, too fast in this game, measuring out where he’s at with the archangel through his expressions. He can’t forget that Lucifer is a being that can easily snap his neck, rip his insides out with his teeth and would not hesitate to make his life a living hell. But there’s a heavy ache in his insides, entire body wound up and tight, hand fighting the instinctual urge to fist into blond locks and push himself into the Devil’s mouth. “You’re mine,” the hunter exhales out, earning a hum in content from the kneeling blond. The thought of just promptly shoving himself down the archangel’s throat leaves his neck flushed and warm. Wanting to feel those muscles in his throat flutter around him and Sam fights off the thick moan that wants to ease its way out slowly out of him. 

“You’re mine. Only you can do this to me,” he continues, watching Lucifer’s eyes close and a pleased look slipping on his face, deciding to take a chance. To be more bold. “Open your mouth....for me,” Sam exhales out, watching those frozen eyes open to gaze up at him with something unreadable and foreign dancing about the corneas. The enchantment was gone, as if the archangel was clearly seeing that Sam was trying to bait him through little compliments. There’s a tightening in Lucifer’s jaw and Sam can already see how easy it’d be for Lucifer to flip the tables. To suddenly be the one in control and he’ll be the one pinned to the mattress and brutally reminded of his foolhardy mistakes through the rough burn of the archangel’s cock as he violently pushes _in and out and in and out and in and out_ until the lesson is learned. 

That prideful bastard. Sam can only internally scowl until it dawns upon him. 

“Ruby had these beautiful red lips,” the hunter began suddenly, not daring to meet Lucifer’s icy gaze just yet. “Paint them up in lipstick and blood. She’d sink on her knees and I’d push her hair to the side, because I wanted to see.” There’s a feral sound burning through the air, Lucifer’s frustration beginning to become tangible and silent rage. “She’d kitten lick her way about and when it became too much, I’d fist my hand into her hair. Yanking on it.” Ruby did do more than just offer a vein for him to suck on. She kicked a door open, forcing him to no longer be shy about matters that would have had him blushing hotly before. Things that would have been frowned upon were now given these avant-garde justifications.

“She’d open her mouth wide -- ” Something garbled and incomprehensible blurts out of Sam’s mouth, mixed in with some semblance of a yelp, cutting his sentence short immediately. Sam’s hand is laid flat on the bed’s headboard for support, holding himself as a shiver snags at his spine. 

Lucifer cut him off. 

There’s a line of tension in the archangel’s neck, a vein pushing up against skin that still shows he’s rather upset at Sam’s over sharing. Sam can’t see it. He can’t even think of drawing his eyes away from the pair of lips that’s suddenly framing his cock. Sam forces himself to breathe -- to do something -- and so air leaves his mouth in an audible exhale that hitches and stutters when that mouth slowly moves. Sam’s acutely focused. Can’t bother to think of what time it is, the vain struggle still occurring with the archangel’s bound wrists, or the sound of an engine rumbling like a caged animal in the parking lot. Sam can only focus on the way that wide mouth slides across him with ease, how the thick vein running across the top of his cock disappears and reappears with the archangel’s movements, and how he wanted nothing but to reach down and tear the broken skin on Lucifer’s upper lip. He split it, now he wanted to pick at it, childishly see if he’ll face consequences or Lucifer would continue on with but a muffled sound of agitation. 

Lucifer should be absolutely horrendous at this. Sam should be hissing and instructing for teeth to not be used or insisting that Lucifer takes more. But there’s unabashed curiosity and determination when Lucifer pulls away, leaning forward to drag his tongue across the inside and curl it when he reaches the tip. The Winchester finds himself fumbling with his hand, soon holding his cock in place for the confident blond tilting his head to suck on the side. 

“You could have just asked nicely,” Lucifer explained plainly, Sam giving out a snort in rebuttal, missing the tense undertone in the archangel’s words. As if that’s all it’d take. He highly doubts Lucifer would willingly do this, but he won’t poke at that fact and the archangel’s oversized ego. 

“Uh-huh,” Sam nods, eyes pinned on that red mouth that’s busy sucking on the head, lips nearly puckered. It pulls high-pitched whines out of him when Lucifer sucks viciously on the head, lips framing the ridges. It makes it difficult to think let alone keep his hips still, fighting off the urge to just thrust into Lucifer’s opened mouth. “But this isn’t so bad. Getting you all tied up and hot and bothered,” he finishes, trying to tease but it comes out watered down and distracted. “Shit, L-Luce,” Sam sucks in before he pulls away abruptly. Lucifer frowns, hackles up, still upset about the story about Ruby.

No. He’s the one in control. He’s not going to have this where he’s finished early on in the game and forced to listen to Lucifer’s taunting remarks. 

“Oh? What about Ruby?” The archangel gives a mocking look of concern, lips splitting wide in a semblance of a pitying smile, “I’m sorry I interrupted your little story about her.” He’s still pissed. Annoyed. Frustrated. Seething against his bonds. Hearing that others, like Ruby, have been with Sam sets his teeth on edge. He couldn’t stand to hear that those who were meant to be loyal to him pressed their skin and mouths against what is _his_. Didn’t want to hear about how good Ruby was. What it felt like when Meg took Sam Winchester for a ride. He didn’t want these memories -- these experiences -- to remain as these memorable events to Sam. So he shoots a rather ‘holier than thou‘ look at Sam, chin upturned, demanding control through sheer presence alone.   “Although,” Lucifer confesses, and there’s a malicious twang ringing through his words, “I did miss a few parts. Couldn’t hear it over all that moaning you were doing.” 

Lucifer’s sneer is tangible, attempting to look dignified while he’s on his knees, bound and already smearing precum across his own navel. He knows he should be snippy in return, but words will only goad the Devil and he wants nothing more but to silence that mouth. Sam’s breathing hard. There’s a fine trembling in his left thigh and he finds a hand fisting into Lucifer’s already chaotic hair for support.

“Open your mouth,” Sam instructs sharply. Lucifer looks as if he’s ready to resist, but Sam only yanks hard on the fistful of hair in his hand. Soon he’s watching with wicked satisfaction the blond open his mouth. “You’re jealous,” he states and he is graced with a glare that attempts to rip him in shreds. But he stays. Lucifer stays put. The hunter grabs his own length from the middle, his skin broken out in goosebumps and sporadic shudders, adrenaline and the amount of control as he stares down at the obedient fallen angel. Sam drags his cock across the path of Lucifer’s lips, tracing the subtle curve.

“What would you like me to do?” he mumbles distractedly, pushing the head into the swollen and beaten bottom lip. Slipping into the archangel’s mouth without waiting for a response, giving a hollow thrust into Lucifer’s cheek, watching his mouth close around him. He eagerly rocks his hips into Lucifer’s mouth, enjoying the twitch and seize of nerves at the icy sensation when he pushes his cock against the archangel’s mouth. He wants to say more, but English language is becoming difficult to piece together and string into sentences when Lucifer urges Sam deeper by pushing his mouth forward. He needs to go in deeper. Just a bit more. 

Sam’s fingers reach out to press into Lucifer’s cheek, a thumb reaching out towards the archangel’s mouth. Soon fingers are busy prying that mouth open, earning a disgruntled sound but nothing more from the blond. The hunter’s other hand joins in, forcing that jaw to open even further, feeling molars and incisors dig into the flesh of his hand. His mouth is cold against the pad of his fingers but tongue lukewarm where the brunette has been rubbing and pushing his cock against. Sam pulls his hips back a few inches before rocking them forward, beginning to build a growing and quickening rhythm. Fingers tighten their hold on Lucifer’s mouth as he quickens his pace, urging himself to press in deeper, eager to push even further into the back of the archangel’s throat. It causes an involuntary swallow when Sam’s pushed in, a thick groan leaving him at the sensation of muscles briefly tightening about him. 

It’s a disgusting rush. Something you only admit to yourself in the confines of your own head. His fingers are surely going to bruise Lucifer’s face, sweltering purple against those frozen eyes of blue. It makes his gut flip, clench and do somersaults when he vainly watches his cock disappear into the depths of the archangel’s mouth. “You can’t heal this,” Sam orders, the sound throaty and as if rubbed with gravel or sandpaper. Sam digs a finger into one of the becoming bruises. “Can’t heal it. M’not going to forget...” Sam swallows, clearing his throat as best as he can to shake that friction off of his vocal chords, “What I did to you.” His pace is climbing towards the edge of erratic, ensuring each time that Lucifer’s nose finds itself pushed into his pubic bone before he’s pulling himself out. When Sam would ease himself out completely, he’d find his fingers pressing even deeper into Lucifer’s cheeks and mouth, saliva dripping off his length and Lucifer’s mouth. 

“Lucifer.” 

Because this is his. His devil on his shoulder. He’s been stuck hearing this repetitive claim over him. It’s always Sam is Lucifer’s. No. It can go both ways. Lucifer is his and he be damned if he never picks up the reins. 

The archangel rises his eyes towards Sam, stark contrast against the rising red and coming molt of purple on the blond’s face. His lips twist into something Sam can’t necessarily decipher but they utter out an agreeing, “I’m keeping them.” Sam wants to give a stupidly pleased grin at this accomplishment, but he’s busy feeling his own tongue press into the roof of his mouth at how worn and raw the Devil’s voice is. It makes him want to dig his blunt nails into the archangel’s throat, push that sound out once more. 

Parting a hand to a reposition himself, Sam slides in once more into the archangel’s mouth and pulls him in deep. His hands move from the archangel’s mouth to fist into his hair, forcing him to remain stuffed with his length down Lucifer’s throat. He can feel every ridge. Every grove of the vessel Lucifer is wearing. His throat is a constrained cold heat that makes him want to pull away and yet get dangerously close to. The rope wrapped tightly around the blond’s throat keeps a delicious pressure surrounding him followed by this growing tremor of muscles at the intrusion. Sam idly wonders if Lucifer has to remind the body that he’s wearing that it didn’t need to fret about breathing. That, more curiously than maliciously, urges him to try to push even further. 

“Come on,” he grits out, refusing to let the wet sound rush out his mouth at the way those slicked, pink lips slide up his cock.

Lucifer’s nose is buried deep in his pubic bone, feeling the archangel shift but forced to remain put by the heavy hands gripping at his hair. He swallows again and it’s tempting to just let go. To spill into Lucifer’s throat...

Hazel eyes remain acutely focused on the archangel who looks far from weak. Doesn’t look nearly as submissive as Sam expected and envisioned. There’s blond lashes framed against his skin, wide mouth taking him in and a deep red of skin where Sam’s fingers been pressing into Lucifer’s cheekbone. He’s eager to see Lucifer’s face come tomorrow when it’s juicy shades of red and purple. Those eyes move up to look at him and Sam can’t formulate words in a warning he’s going to come, giving a hoarse groan as he hits his peak. 

The Devil swallows his load, nearly choking at the suddenness and the taste that is thick on his tongue. He busies pressing his tongue into his cheek as if that would aid in his understanding of it. Sam wants to chuckle, but he’s too tired to. Can only tiredly push himself over to Lucifer to undo his restraints, watching the inquisitive angel’s face scrunch up. 

Sam undoes the belt on Lucifer’s wrist, tossing it across the bed before his fingers are fiddling with the leather collar. Slipping it off, he shifts back to stare at the red band of abused skin, the faint show of Enochian and Hebrew a white across his skin. The Devil moves to roll his shoulders before taking the collar off Sam’s hands, examining it with rapt curiosity. Lucifer turns his head up towards Sam when he’s content with it, wide lips parting into a grin. 

“Your turn, Sam.”

**Author's Note:**

> _Love it? Hate it? Tell me in a review!_


End file.
